


Grief Counseling

by Serindrana



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-29 23:58:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serindrana/pseuds/Serindrana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Treavor Pendleton has lost two family members, and isn't entirely sure how to cope. Callista has experience.</p><p>Written for lady-protector and fangirling-is-a-profession on tumblr!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grief Counseling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyWaria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWaria/gifts), [theLadyofMayhem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theLadyofMayhem/gifts).



Treavor Pendleton was crying again.

He was also drunk, but “again” couldn’t be rightly applied to a man who hadn’t been wholly sober in well over a week. Emily had kept Callista thankfully distracted and away from the grieving man. He had Wallace to take care of him, and Callista only needed to nanny one child. But now Emily was napping, and Wallace was telling Cecelia how exactly the dishes were to be scrubbed, and Callista was standing outside of Pendleton’s door, listening to him cry.

He’d want to be left alone. She understood that well enough. Her uncle was dead, despite Corvo’s best efforts (“ _I should have hid him,_ ” Corvo had said, “ _but I thought he’d be safe if I just left him asleep in a quiet spot, I didn’t know Campbell’s men would slit his throat given the opportunity. I swear.”_ ), and she had kept to herself for three days, ostensibly to prepare Emily’s room. Really, she had been unable to look at another person without wanting to scream and cry and yell, because why were  _they_ alive?

So she understood. But Wallace, for all his dedication, was no nursemaid, and a child - even a grown one like Treavor Pendleton - needed a guide through all this. Callista sighed. Besides, if he didn’t slow down on his drinking, they would be out of whiskey in another week, and getting more would be troublesome.

She knocked.

“Wallace?” Treavor called, quickly stifling his sobs. “Wallace, is that you?”

 

“No, Lord Pendleton,” she said, head bowed slightly. Was this  _really_  the best idea? “It’s Callista Curnow. I wish to speak with you.”

“Right. Well. Do you have any- hm. Maybe cider tonight-“

“May I come in, Lord Pendleton?”

He was silent, either considering or hastening to hide any signs of his grief. She waited. Give it another thirty seconds, and she could apologize, walk away, and feel as if she had done her duty.

“Yes, I suppose you may. Come on, then,” Treavor said.

 _Right_.

She took a deep breath and opened the door, slipping into the room and shutting it behind her.

—

“You hated your brothers,” she said, wonderingly, as Treavor toed at an empty bottle.

“Yes, well, hate is a complex emotion, you know.” His eyes were still bloodshot, the skin around them puffy and red, but he’d stopped sniveling half an hour ago after a good second cry, thanks to Callista telling not  _You made the right decision_  or  _It will get better_ , but  _I understand_. “And they were still my brothers. And I had hoped- hoped I could see them again.”

Callista pondered that, then nodded. “I think I understand. Now there’s nobody to see how far you’ve come.”

He scowled. “Very far, indeed.”

—

“Wallace, go away,” Treavor said when his manservant knocked politely and began to open the door. He shut the door in an instant.

Callista’s laugh escaped in a sharp exhale. Of course he didn’t want Wallace to see him curled up on his bed, head in the resident governess’s lap. That wasn’t  _proper_. She patted his shoulder.

He resumed his story about how when he was fourteen, his older brothers had taken him the Golden Cat for his birthday, and how it had all been a cruel joke with a vat of eels waiting for him. Callista listened.

—

Three days later, he still wasn’t talking to her.

Apparently, pouring out your grieving soul to the Help was something to be regretted in the morning. She couldn’t say she hadn’t expected it. Still, the fact that he was outright  _ignoring_  her was a little frustrating. A muttered  _thank you_  or even coin (not that she wanted payment, but he was used to buying everything) would have helped put everything to rest.

While Emily pestered Havelock about what it was like at sea, Callista retreated to the tower and set about tidying up. A straightened doll here, a smoothed sheet there- Lydia and Cecelia had offered to take care of the everyday cleaning, but she liked to do it herself. Call it professional pride.

Somebody cleared his throat, and she glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see Corvo.

Treavor Pendleton stood awkwardly in the doorway.

“Miss Curnow,” he said, hesitating before taking a step into the room. She straightened up and turned to face him. “I’m leaving for Pendleton Manor shortly, for a three-day stay.”

“Pleasure as well as business, I hope?” she said, puzzling over why he would come to tell  _her_.

“There are funeral arrangements to be made, now that the bodies have been appropriately cremated and stored. But…” He paused, then took another step closer to her.

Callista watched him, warily.

“I would… request your help, if you could spare the time. I have already spoken to the admiral, and as long as your stay is short, he would allow you to travel with me. Miss Curnow-“

“Will Wallace be no help?” Her mouth was dry. She hadn’t  _actually_  agreed to be his nanny, had she? He certainly wasn’t paying her a salary. And she didn’t want his salary, anyway!

“Of course he will be,” Treavor was saying, approaching closer, though at a slight angle as if trying not to spook her. “But you provide a… a different type of aid than he does. I’m sure you understand. He doesn’t have our- connection.”

“Lord Pendleton, the Lady Emily needs-“

“It will only be three days,” he said, and reached out, taking her hand. They were shaking, likely from the effort of being as sober as he seemed to be. Outsider’s eyes, it’d be easier if he was staggering drunk. What was he-

Treavor Pendleton leaned in and kissed her, and her mind went utterly blank.

 _Not a nanny_ ** _at all_** was the first thought that came back, followed quickly by the realization that he was actually decent at kissing, and he was being slow and decorous and as proper as he could be while kissing the Help. That was, until she made a small sound and shifted her hand in his grip. Then he let go of her hand and cupped her face between both of his, kissing her desperately.

She didn’t know where to put her hands. On his shoulders? His waist? His chest, and shove him very firmly away? This was all just too much, and too sudden. She pulled away enough to mumble his name. His eyes were closed and his breathing was ragged.

Dimly, and then very,  _very_  clearly, she heard little footsteps on the sheet metal leading to the still-open door, a squeak, and then a quickly shouted, “I’m sorry Miss Callista I’ll come back later!” as Emily turned and pelted back towards Corvo’s room.

Treavor let go of her just as she sagged against him, pressing her forehead against his shoulder. “There is,” she said, tone flat, “such a thing as  _discretion_ , Lord Pendleton.”

He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Try it next time?” she asked, pulling away.

“… Next time?” he asked, licking his lips (hopefully without realizing it).

“Perhaps when you return from your estate.”

Treavor straightened up, puffing out his chest a little. “Yes. Ah. Perhaps. Right. A very good idea.”

They stared at each other for another long moment, then Callista relaxed and offered him a small smile. “And good luck. Funerals are not easy, but think of it as a dispensation from guilt and sorrow. Once it’s over, you’re allowed to move on.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Your- help has been- invaluable, Miss Curnow. I wish only that it didn’t come from such wretched experiences as you’ve had.”

She nodded, then shooed him towards the door. He let her. “Go,” she said, “and spit in their ashes and scream at them and tell them everything you want them to hear. And then put them in the family mausoleum and shut the door.”

Treavor Pendleton smiled and nodded. “And I’ll be sure to bring you back a very nice bottle of effervescent. Just for you, untouched.”

Her smile grew. “If you say so, Lord Pendleton.”


End file.
